


Paris

by Lavendelshampoo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Sexual Content, chapter 402, slight nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25403005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendelshampoo/pseuds/Lavendelshampoo
Summary: Set after filming the documentary - Ushijima and Tendou in a small flat in the Marais, Paris. That is all.
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 112





	Paris

**Author's Note:**

> I had to get this off my chest after reading 402.

It is past midnight when they get back to Satori’s small flat on the third floor of a historistic apartment building in the Marais. There are no words exchanged – even for Satori’s standards they have talked enough today: about each other, to each other, in front of the camera and off, on their way home.

_Home_. It deserves to be called this, tonight, filled with Wakatoshi’s presence.

When Wakatoshi pulls him close and kisses him, he knows, this is the only language he wants to be speaking tonight. Their clothes are discarded quickly in the dimly lit room and they stumble onto the bed, not willing to let go of each other for even a second, but then everything slows down. There is no need to rush. Satori allows himself to take his time, to take it all in, to bask in Wakatoshi’s presence – these moments so scarce that it’s almost unreal and it feels as if a loud breath could scare them away.

Then Wakatoshi’s arms wrap around him and pull him closer and everything falls into place, feels _right_ and _warm_ and _solid_ and _real_. It always does with him, no matter the distance, but calls and videos can never compare to this.

Sometimes the world is too much – too loud, too bright, too fast – but spending time together, physically, works like a reset button, provides a new tape to record everything until they can see each other again and start anew.

Wakatoshi closes his eyes and stills as Satori’s fingers begin to dance across his back in feathery touches, tracing unintelligible patterns on his skin. A peculiar calm settles in, supplanting all the thoughts and impressions of the day. It’s like watching a paintbrush on a clean sheet, slowly, perfectly doing calligraphy, moving in circles and strokes, so steady it is almost meditative. Goosebumps rise on his skin, like gentle waves on stagnant waters, formed by a gentle breeze.

They kiss and it reminds him of the chocolates he tasted earlier, warm and sweet, with darker tones of pleasure building up, but this time he can’t get enough of it. It feeds a hunger inside of him that has steadily been growing stronger all evening and long before, like an underlying current, pulling him under.

Sometimes it feels like standing in the ocean, only ankle-deep, feeling the falling tide: not strong enough to make you stagger, but deceiving as it quietly rinses the sand from under your heels until your balance wavers, if you make the mistake of staying too long.

They kiss and Satori places a hand on Wakatoshi’s neck, feels the muscles work as they move their mouths against each other, taking their time, always trying to get closer, their lips soft and kisses unhurried, but nevertheless urgent. He shuffles even closer and moans into the kiss when their hips are pressed flush against each other and heat spreads through his body. He sneaks a hand between them to grab their erections, moving deftly in slow strokes, and shudders when he feels Wakatoshi’s broad hand make it’s way down his back.

They shut out the world, closing the apartment door, titles and fame as carelessly discarded as their clothes, and it all narrows down to this small room, this bed, this closeness where it’s so easy to get lost in an all-consuming feeling that leaves no space for thoughts, just fills the senses with _warm_ and _right_ and _oh so good_.

There is no need for words. Everything that could be said is expressed in the way Wakatoshi’s upper arms tremble when he grabs them – star athlete, professional, member of the national team, trembling because of him – it’s in the way his moans turns into a whimpers of pure bliss when Wakatoshi moves inside of him, in the slow deep thrusts, heavy breaths and languid kisses.

Paris is bustling with life, even in the early hours of morning, right outside the narrow window with it’s French balcony and it sounds too much like Tokyo. Wakatoshi refuses to acknowledge it as he stares at the high ceiling, studies floral ornaments and leans into the sensation of Satori’s fingers gently combing through his hair. Only here, the underlying current subsides and he feels anchored.

He has been lucky, he knows that. Visiting another country has always been a source of stress, but compared to moving to another country, it seems laughable. Especially when he doesn’t speak the language of said country and his English is sufficient for training purposes at best.

So far, he has been lucky, for never having to do it on his own. Always, someone was already there. His father. Iwaizumi. Satori. It’s only fair that things have turned out like this, he thinks. While he has always walked the path that was laid out for him without hesitation, Satori never needed one, but rather left one in his wake and maybe this is the current he has been feeling all along. Warsaw is closer to Paris after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written anything like this before, so uhm... yes. Kudos, comments and critique are much appreciated.   
> Find me on twitter @lavendelshampoo


End file.
